When we were contacted at the beginning of August by a television editor who wanted to film a report on the topic of the vintage sardine and needed our help, I had no idea that just two months later, wearing rubber slippers and a lime-green surgical cap, I would be beheading and gutting a sardine myself, and shortly after that, I would bravely venture into 2-meter-high waves on a small nutshell to go sardine fishing in the dark of night... But life has some wonderful surprises in store. Let's start at the beginning:
With our help, the team led by Daniel Mohr (Kabel 1 – "Abenteuer Leben" editorial team) was able to arrange an appointment at the Conserverie Gonidec in Concarneau. This is where we source the fantastic sardines and vintage sardines "Les Mouettes d'Arvor." The company was founded in 1959 by Jacques Gonidec I. Since 1996, the so-called vintage sardines have been produced here under the brand "Les Mouettes d'Arvor," a defunct local soccer club to which Jacques Gonidec II belonged. It is now managed by Jacques Gonidec III. We already knew him and his wife Valérie from a trade fair, but hadn't yet made it to Concarneau to visit them at their place of work. I selflessly offered Daniel my services as a mediator and translator, and so it happened that I was able to accompany the team.
Two days before their departure, they visited our store to film their first scenes. Some of our Berlin clients may still remember the LED lights, the unfamiliar equipment, the many cables, and the strange men in the store...
And then it began: I met the "boys" (Daniel Mohr, editor / Matthias Barth, camera / Roland Röhrig, sound) at the airport in Paris. From there, we continued our journey to Brest, and the next morning by rental car to Concarneau. It was my first visit to Brittany, and I was accordingly excited.
In Concarneau we visited Jacques Gonidec in his conserverie and were personally guided through the hallowed halls by the owner, so that we could already gain a first impression.
Things didn't really get started until the next morning. The planned sea trip on a sardine boat for that first evening had to be postponed due to bad weather – a storm with strong gusts, waves up to 3 meters high, and rain.
And so the next morning, relatively well-rested, we were up on the mat at 8 a.m. sharp, ready to put on our outfits appropriate for the occasion and follow the production process of the vintage sardine from start to finish.
It begins with the delivery of the sardines caught the previous night off Concarneau or one of the other nearby towns (Lorient, Brest, Quiberon).
In the cannery, they are first washed and then taken to the so-called "dirty room." There, the workers remove the heads and intestines by hand and with a sharp knife. The movements are practiced, and everything happens so quickly that you almost don't notice what's really happening. I was even allowed to try it myself once and discovered that it's not that easy. The key is to sever the central bone, so to speak, at the neck, with a quick and precise cut and then, without stopping, to pull the intestines out of the belly with a decisive pull. It is fundamentally important not to cut the intestines and, above all, to remove everything, because the intestines are not easily digestible for the human body. With cheaper products, machines do this task, and they are often unable to be as thorough, careful, and gentle as the skilled workers. This explains, among other things, why hand-processed sardines taste so much better. My first two attempts fail miserably, prompting Mr. Gonidec to comment that I should treat the sardine with more respect. He shows me how carefully I should handle the fish, and especially where: my thumb should be placed just below the gills, while the remaining fingers should only gently grasp the sardine. This actually works better, and the third sardine I gut makes it to the next step.
Next, the sardines are washed again in salt water or soaked for about 3 minutes. They are then dried in a special drying facility at 57°C. These two steps, which are part of the "à l'Ancienne" preparation, form a thin salt crust around the sardine, which becomes nice and crispy when subsequently fried in 100°C sunflower oil. Much more importantly, however, this crispy skin prevents the sardine from drying out, as a thin layer of fat lies beneath the skin, which—if it remains intact—ensures that the sardine is nice and juicy and therefore flavorful. This, too, is a step that fewer and fewer canneries perform anymore. While this saves production costs, their products suffer significantly in terms of quality and flavor.
After the sardines are fried, they are hung for at least 2 hours so that the sunflower oil and the good olive oil do not mix with each other later.
After the lunch break, work continues in the next, much cooler production room next door. When we return from our lunch break with Monsieur and Madame Gonidec (at "La Coquille," a very pretty and well-attended restaurant on the harbor in Concarneau, where the Gonidecs are greeted with kisses), the hard-working workers are already back at the conveyor belt.
Today, a special edition is being produced: the vintage sardines from the special "Brest 2016" collection. A truly beautiful can, which we'll definitely order when the time comes.
Now the sardines are trimmed again, this time with scissors, again by hand. A bit of the tail and head end still needs to be removed. This is partly to ensure the sardines fit perfectly into the can, and partly to ensure a truly clean and flawless product. The cans are then filled with the finest cold-pressed olive oil before being lidded and sterilized in a special facility for one hour and 40 minutes at 120°C.
We absorb all the information with curiosity and inquisitiveness, interview the workers, take photos, and marvel at the ingenuity of the equipment and the dexterity of the women on the assembly line. Many of them have been working in the factory for 18 or 20 years, having already started under Monsieur Gonidec's father. I find it truly hard to imagine, because it quickly becomes clear that this is a backbreaking job...
Unfortunately, the whole day was filled with the dreaded feeling that we wouldn't be able to accompany a sardine boat on its nightly catch this time, because the weather had actually worsened, and once again no captain wanted to take us. In retrospect, I have to admit I'm quite glad about that, now that I know how much a ship rocks even in light seas...
So we slowly had to come to terms with the fact that we probably wouldn't be able to experience this stage of the vintage sardine's journey live, and we went to bed feeling a bit dejected.
Overnight, however, the storm abated, and just as we were on our way to the airport, we received a call from Mr. Gonidec: he had found a captain who would be leaving that evening and was willing to take us on board. We allowed ourselves a brief moment of celebration, then the sound engineer hit the brakes and turned around. Daniel quickly made a few calls to extend our trip by a day, and finally, we reprogrammed our lisping navigation system to Lorient. That's where we would meet Pierrot le Pluhart, the captain of the sardine boat "L'Étoile Polaire" – the Polar Star – that evening.
When the day finally arrived, I could hardly believe it. After two days of waiting with an uncertain outcome, I was standing at the harbor in my fishing outfit, equipped with dry bread and travel gum, when Pierrot and his boys arrived.
Pierrot is 61 years old and has been sailing since 1968. He's actually been retired for five years, but he just can't stay on dry land. He's now firmly committed to retiring within the next year, but after getting to know him a little, I'm not entirely sure he'll actually follow through. When I asked him what his wife thought about him going out every evening, he simply replied, "She knows I love it. So she doesn't mind."
Pierrot's eight-person crew is strikingly young, all in their early to mid-twenties and highly motivated. He found his crew about three years ago and is very happy with them. He's known some of them since they were little boys, as their fathers were also fishermen and some sailed with Pierrot. The crew is perfectly coordinated. When things get serious, every move is perfect, and communication works even with just a few words.
The atmosphere on the small cutter is good from the start, and we feel very welcome. Everyone is happy to provide information and explain in detail how everything works. And so, after quickly refueling and loading up with ice, we set off out of the bay under blue skies and a hint of sunshine. The sea seems calm, and I still can't imagine it getting any rougher later. But no sooner have we left the bay than Pierrot warns us that things are about to get rough. And he's right: no sooner do we step out onto the open sea than the waves roll in, towering up to about 1.70m. The little nutshell rides every wave, plunging into its valleys and riding its slopes. The boat rocks not only from top to bottom, but also from left to right, and I'm glad all the fish tanks are securely moored. Pierrot sits in his captain's chair in the cockpit, drinking tea, and there's no sign of the crew: they've retreated to the cabins in the ship's hold, where none of us four newbies could possibly last even a second. We stare at the horizon and try hard to maintain our composure. If these comparatively small waves are having such an impact, I'm really glad we didn't insist on going out on one of the previous days. And I'm thankful for my rubber boots!
After about an hour and a half – the sun has almost completely disappeared – Pierrot spots a large spot on his sonar at the suspected spot he's been heading for for the past few days. He suspects it might be a school of sardines. One of the ship's boys is just explaining the principle of "pêche à la bolinche" (the traditional Breton method of fishing using a special net) to me when the word "boué!" (buoy) echoes through the night. From then on, everything happens very quickly, and before we know it, the first silvery sardines are wriggling in the net.
In just one go, "we" catch five or six tons of sardines of a respectable size that evening. Nobody knows exactly how many afterward... About 600 kilos of these are sold to local fishmongers that night for €2-3 per kilo. The rest goes to wholesalers and canneries early in the morning for €0.75. Jacques Gonidec will buy half of "our" catch and use it to make his vintage sardines.
Excursus: La pêche à la bolinche
This type of fishing is a Breton tradition that allows for environmentally friendly fishing with almost no bycatch and does not destroy the seabed. The net is constructed like a large, wide ribbon with floats attached to one side and heavy iron rings on the other, allowing the net to sink to depths of up to 40 meters. Ropes are also attached to both ends of these rings to close the net at the bottom. One end of the net is permanently attached to the boat, and a buoy is attached to the other end. This buoy is thrown into the water when a school of sardines appears on the sonar. The boat then circles quickly, causing the net to slide into the water and tighten around the catch. The full net can now be pulled up until the fishermen, using a small crane and a small net that works on the same principle, can scoop the fish out of the net like a ladle and transfer them to ice-cold tanks on board.
The network in numbers:
- Dimensions: 330x83m
- Reachable depth: 40m
- Costs: approx. €30,000
- Weight: 1.5t
Exhausted, happy, hungry, and a little unsteady on our feet, we arrive back at the harbor around midnight. Now it's time to say goodbye to Pierrot and his boys. Perhaps the farewell won't last too long, though, because together with my father and sister, we're already planning a trip through the Conserverien region in June – from Concarneau (Gonidec, Les Mouettes d'Arvor) via Quiberon (La Quiberonnaise and La Belle-Iloise) to Saint-Gilles-Croix-de-Vie (La Perle des Dieux). We'll certainly make a detour to the port of Lorient to see if Pierrot is still at the helm and will take us three landlubbers back on board...
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A few more impressions:
For those who prefer watching to reading, here is a short film about the trip:
